State of Siege

FORTY-ONE

Hood called Bob Herbert and told him to get them Chatterjee’s mobile phone number. While Hood held the line, Rodgers bound Ani Hampton to her chair. He used black electrical tape he’d found in the supply closet to tie her left wrist to the armrest. There had been packaging twine on the shelf, but using tape was a habit from field interrogations: it didn’t leave marks or tear the skin, and it was tougher to work lose. Rodgers had also found several handguns and other CIA field gear in the closet. The guns were locked in a metal gun rack. After binding Ani, Rodgers took the key case from her blazer, which was hanging in the closet. CIA regulations required that whoever was in charge of a shell have access to the “self-defense matériel.” Rodgers found the key that unlocked the rack and took a pair of Berettas for himself and another pair for August. Each handgun held a clip with a fifteen-shell capacity. He also grabbed a pair of point-to-point radios along with a brick of C-4 and detonators. He put the explosives in a foam-lined backpack and slung it over one shoulder. It wasn’t the usual Striker kit — night vision glasses and Uzis would be ideal — but it would have to do. He hoped he didn’t need any of these, but he wanted to be prepared for the worst.

Upon returning to the office, Rodgers looked down at Ani. “If you cooperate, I’ll help you when we get out of here.”

She didn’t respond.

“Do you understand?” Rodgers pressed.

“I understand,” she said without looking up.

After handing August his guns, Rodgers took the colonel’s arm. He led him to where Hood was standing, still holding the phone.

“What’s wrong?” August asked.

“I don’t have a good feeling about our prisoner,” Rodgers said quietly.

“Why?” Hood asked.

“In a few minutes, she’s going to have us by the short hairs,” Rodgers said. “Suppose Chatterjee calls the terrorists for us. Then this woman refuses to back up the lie. Where are we then?”

“I’d say pretty much where we are now,” August told him.

“Not exactly,” Rodgers said. “The terrorists will have been attacked and then lied to. They’re going to want to hit back. Shoot a hostage as scheduled and add another as payback.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t do this?” Hood asked.

“No, I don’t think we have a choice,” Rodgers said. “Because, if nothing else, we can buy ourselves a few extra minutes.”

“For what?” Hood asked.

“To take control of this situation,” Rodgers said. “To launch a bottleneck operation.”

August seemed pleased.

Hood shook his head. “With what kind of force?” he asked. “The pair of you?”

“It can work,” Rodgers told him.

“I repeat — with just two soldiers?” Hood asked.

“In theory, yes,” Rodgers said.

Hood didn’t seem happy with that answer.

“We’ve run simulations,” Rodgers went on. “Brett has drilled for this.”

“Mike,” Hood said, “even if you can get in there, the hostages are going to be extremely vulnerable.”

“Like I said, what do you think is going to happen if our lady friend here turns on us?” Rodgers asked. “We’ve got human gunpowder in a keg, and we’re applying a match. The terrorists are going to blow.”

Hood had to admit that Rodgers had a point. He looked at his watch. “Bob?” he said into the phone.

“I’m here,” said Herbert.

“What’s happening with the phone number?”

“The State Department still only has the number for Secretary-General Manni, if you can believe it. I’ve got Darrell working on getting the number through Interpol and Matt trying to hack it,” Herbert said. “I’m betting on Matt getting it first at this point. Another minute or two.”

“Bob, we’re measuring time in seconds,” Hood said.

“Understood,” Herbert replied.

Hood looked at Rodgers. “How do you both get inside?”

“Only Colonel August has to go in,” Rodgers continued. “I’ll take the base position, which will be outside the Security Council.” He looked at August. “The entrance to the UN garage is located on the northeast side of the compound, down a flight of stairs that are on a direct line from the front door of this building. That’s where you get in.”

“How do you know the garage will be open?” Hood asked.

“It was open when I came here,” Rodgers said, “and they’re obviously keeping it that way in case they want to move personnel or equipment in. The terrorists might hear the sound of a big door like that shutting and then opening. It could tip them off, if something were up.”

That was a good point, Hood thought.

“There probably won’t be any security personnel in the rose garden leading to the garage,” Rodgers said to August. “They’ll keep the perimeter itself guarded to maximize manpower. If there are choppers, you’ll have sufficient cover under the bushes or statues. Once you get through the park and into the garage, your only problem will be the corridor between the elevator and the Security Council. According to the blueprints, the elevator shaft lets off about fifty feet down the main corridor from the Security Council.”

“Isn’t that a big problem?” Hood asked.

“Not really,” August said. “I can cover fifty feet pretty quick. I’ll bowl people down if I have to. Surprise works against your own people, too.”

“What if the security personnel fire at you?” Hood asked.

“I heard foreign accents on our little bug,” August said. “I’m sure there are UN personnel I can use as a shield. Once I get inside the Security Council, it doesn’t matter what they do.”

“It’s still an extra impediment,” Hood said.

“Maybe we can convince Chatterjee to help us, if it comes to that,” August suggested.

“If the lie about the ransom doesn’t work, I doubt she’ll go with a second lie,” Hood said. “Diplomats who were never soldiers don’t understand the quicksilver nature of warfare.”

“She may not have a choice by that time,” Rodgers said. “Colonel August will be inside.”

“Who do you think will be watching the garage door?” August asked Rodgers.

“They’re probably letting the NYPD take charge of that,” Rodgers said. “Most of the UN police are probably upstairs.”

Bob Herbert came back on then. Op-Center’s computer genius Matt Stoll had managed to pull it from the restricted on-line United Nations directory before Darrell McCaskey was able to get the number from his Interpol people. Hood wrote it down. The phone line wouldn’t be secure, but Hood would have to risk it. There wasn’t much time left.

He would have to risk a number of things, he decided. He okayed Rodgers’s plan and August left at once.

Hood punched in the number.

A man with an Italian accent answered. “This is the secretary-general’s line.”

“This is Paul Hood, the Director of Op-Center in Washington,” Hood said. “I need to speak with the secretary-general.”

“Mr. Hood, we have a situ—”

“I know!” Hood snapped. “And we can save the next victim if we act quickly! Put her on.”

“Just a moment,” the man told him.

Hood glanced at his watch. Assuming the terrorists didn’t rush the deadline, there was just over a minute left.

A woman came on the line. “This is Mala Chatterjee.”

“Madam Secretary-General, this is Paul Hood,” he said. “I’m the director of a crisis management team in Washington. One of the hostages is my daughter.” Hood’s voice was quaking. He realized that what he said now could save or doom Harleigh.

“Yes, Mr. Hood?”

“I need your help,” Hood went on. “I need you to radio the terrorists and tell them that you have the money and the helicopter they’ve asked for. If you do that, we can make sure they believe you.”

“But we don’t have those things,” Chatterjee told him. “Nor are we likely to.”

“By the time the terrorists figure that out, they’ll be outside the building,” Hood said. “I’ll have the NYPD ready to get them there.”

“We’ve already tried one very costly attack,” Chatterjee said. “I won’t authorize another.”

Hood didn’t want her to know that he knew that. “This will be different,” Hood said. “If the terrorists are outside, they can’t control all the hostages. We can get some of them away. And if they use poison gas, we’ll be in a better position to help the victims. But you’ve got to call the terrorists now. You’ve also got to tell them that the offer is only good if they don’t kill any more hostages.”

Chatterjee hesitated. Hood couldn’t understand what she was hesitating about. After the hit the security forces had just taken, there was only one answer: I’ll do it. I’ll help save a life and smoke the bastards out. Or did she still think she could open a dialogue, talk the terrorists into surrendering? If he had the time to finesse the situation, he would point out that Colonel Georgiev had apparently helped to turn the UNTAC operation into a sham. He would ask how she could still believe her own propaganda, that peacekeeping and negotiation were somehow the high road and force was the low road.

“Madam Secretary-General, please,” Hood said. “We have less than a minute.”

She continued to hesitate. Hood had never been as disgusted with despots as he was right now with this so-called humanitarian. What was there to fret over? Lying to terrorists? Having to explain to the Gabonese Republic why the United Nations charter was being side-stepped, why the surviving members of the General Assembly weren’t consulted before the United States was permitted to terminate a hostage situation?

But this wasn’t the time for a debate. Hopefully, Chatterjee would see that, too. And quickly.

“All right,” the secretary-general replied. “I will place the call to save a life.”

“Thank you,” Hood replied. “I’ll be in touch.”